When the prodigal son returns, he’s afraid. Very afraid, as the bible tells us. (keep reading, I’m not getting biblical on you) He wasted his entire inheritance, abandoned his family, and screwed up royally. Yet he goes home, faces the truth, and prepares to beg for forgiveness.

Because at some point we all have to go home.

But life doesn’t always follow the story. Or maybe it always does, but it’s the path that becomes entirely different.

We’re not prepared for the hill that lays in wait just before the doorstep. The hill built out of fear, hate, spite, revenge, hurt, and denial. The hill that our home has not built, but the one that the prodigal son has built himself. And we can’t see our loved ones standing in circles around that hill with shovels, and spades, and even explosives, just waiting for the words to be spoken, just waiting to help tear down that hill.

Yet we choose to add to the hill. Always heaping on more and more, making it seem impossible.

Until we despise the idea of going home all together.

But you see, going home is not an option you can choose to ignore. Denying truths only eat at your soul. One way or another you will climb that hill, eventually.

I stared blankly at the screen trying to reign in the words. Everyone has always entertained my belief that they will be back one day… no one had ever shut off the entire thought so completely. I’m hardly ever at a loss of words, but all I could manage to do was to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Hearing true thoughts from a whole nother viewpoint can be a punch in the stomach.

(back story on my stepdaughter and her mother running away for religious reasons here )

I live the pain my husband has felt from the whole ordeal, I feel the pain for the baby she abandoned, I see the twisted remains of her husband she left… but the pain of her siblings, loosing a mother and a sister, I’m afraid it might be more than I can bare.

It’s hard enough to see my son forget about her completely.

And is that what they really wanted? To be forgotten? And knowing that at one point we all believed and praised from the same bible, aren’t they contradicting the whole entire book? Aren’t we supposed to show our faith and proclaim it from a mountain top? How do we share if we hide?

Or was there more to it all? Other problems so grand, running was the only option… Or could fear keep them hidden, fear of being so wrong, so lost, so caught up that it’s hard to face the truth.

And will they come back?

My faith, my heart, my soul say they will be back. No one can run forever, we all get tired, we all fall. I’ve done my best to remind myself that WHEN they come back that it won’t be them. I will not be wrapping my arms around the same girl who I knew, but a familiar shell with different fillings. The same and so different.

But what if they don’t come back.

What then?

I suppose my only answer can be… I won’t let that happen.

Which is foolish and childish, stubborn and unrealistic. But what if one of the only people who still has any hope at all looses hope? What if hope disappears? Why come back if hope is gone? I will always have hope.

The stars hanging above her head made her feel smaller than small. They made her feel as if she were nothing at all. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, pulling tightly at the drawstring. Wishing that the night breeze would go away or that she had brought her coffee outside with her.

She balanced her head back on the edge of the lawn chair, looking back up at brightly dotted sky. Wondering what the moon thought about all of those stars. She closed her eyes tightly, squishing out the day as completely as she could.

She felt alone in a different world, this darkness, it wasn’t the same place by day. Alone and surrounded by hundreds of chirping tree frogs, a distant owl, a howl, sounds she couldn’t even label, all closing in on her.

And she welcomed it.

Her thoughts danced on the wings of a bat overhead. She said something terribly wrong, just moments ago, something she couldn’t pick out, but something that sent him storming off in a fit of rage, doors slamming behind him. A single tear ran down her cheek, as she tried to clench the hurt away through her teeth.

Maybe this would be the time, that moment when he would finally give up. Maybe this was that one single thing that would push him over the edge. Something she couldn’t even remember. She forced her eyes back open to the damnation from those stars, and stared hard, looking for an answer.

The stars stared back, mocking her.

What was she supposed to do? Go in and beg for forgiveness? Forgiveness for what? She always is the sorry one, maybe this time she should stand her grounds. But it killed every inch of her soul to let the sun set on a fight with him. But shouldn’t he back down for once? And what was she going to do, sit out here all night crying with the stars, shivering from the wind, and picking june bugs off her clothes? It was killing every inch of her soul. She sniffled, wiping at her eyes, switching her focus back to the moon.

Maybe it was all over.

Her core trembled with the thought, she could feel the shattering of her heart. Her eyes tightly closed.

“Hey.” Her heart jumped to his voice, her palms instantly sweating.

She opened her eyes, and turned towards him. Towards his outstretched hand, reaching for her. Begging for her. The hands that felt as though they could protect her from anything the world could conger up. He blotted at a tear on her cheek with his thumb, so strong yet gentle, pulling her up from the chair.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, honest but still proud. And she didn’t care what it sounded like.

She followed him back inside, eager to sleep in his warm embrace, turning once, looking back at the moon, whispering, “Thank You.”

She sits, trying to type, trying to reach her dreams, with her legs folded under her, praying not to wake the creature. Many times before she has tried to kill the beast, that lies sleeping under her desk, but no mater what she does he always comes back.

He’s ready to strike with his large poisoned fangs. He wants her to feel the fear, the pain, the agony he represents. He wants her to give up, to walk away, to hide in fear.

His threats are hard to ignore. The pain so real.

And the battle goes on day after day, between her and her snake. She dreams and he strikes, some days it’s all too much, the scars as thick as her hopes…

I tightened my grip around the leather leash, keeping Vinny my dog and best friend close to my side. The new tension shot down the leash causing him to quickly halt and stare up at me, looking for an explanation.

I didn’t have one. We had walked this path, through the fields behind my house, at least a hundred times, but today it felt like a new strange land. The same gravel crunched under our feet, the same telephone poles towered above our heads, I knew every inch of the trail, but yet I didn’t, and I couldn’t place my finger on the change.

Vinny pulled forward, picking up our pace. I followed his lead, trusting the short red lab mix’s instincts over mine any day. But I kept getting that feeling, the one that sends goosebumps over your flesh, and makes you run down dark hall ways at night, afraid to look back until your safely hidden under your covers. But we were running away from our home, not to it.

Half way down the gravel path to the other side of the field I stopped to look back, still trying to talk myself out of the chills that were running down my spine. The path was empty besides a lone bright red cardinal pecking in the rocks. I could still see my little house through the line of trees, sitting there empty, lined up in a perfect row with the other houses. Everything looked normal.

A sharp loud bark forced a gasp from my lips, brining a chill down my spine. Vinny was biting at the leash anxiously, barking in between nips, urging me to continue on. His short stubby tail was tucked tight between his legs, and his hackles had begun to stand on end.

I continued walking forward, further away from our home, as he pulled us into a full-out run. Panic swept over me in waves so overwhelming it was all I could do to keep my body up right, to keep it moving. Tears were filling my eyes, and cold sweet was pouring down my back. What the hell is going on?

At the end of the trail, across the old fields that were once meant for a playground and playing fields for the subdivision was an old creek, one that only ever ran with water during storms. We came here almost daily to wear Vinny out, as no one ever came this far down the path. Behind it was acres and acres of corn fields sectioned off by old rusted barbed wire. An old farm that didn’t get bought out during the town’s development days.

Vinny yanked his leash free from my grips, darting under the barbed wire. Cursing and calling for him, I carefully climbed through the twisted wires. Turning around as it happened.

As I looked back down the path the entire world turned red. In an instant everything we had just left had turned into a burning inferno, with black plumes of smoke filling the sky. Everything was gone.

Before emotions and thoughts could even try to form, Vinny was back pulling at my pant leg, begging me to keep moving on…

I am hungry for critiques, advice, guidance. Be they gentle or harsh I want them, I need them. I welcome them.

Just please don’t scream at me when the car is rolling backwards down the hill, 5 minutes into my “how to drive a stick shift lesson”. And don’t remind me that it was MY bright idea to learn right then and there, in the dark, while it’s raining.

I do think that I am going somewhere with this…

Ummmm… Yes, now I remember…

Tonight I am celebrating my first step up in the blogging world. I received my first Hate Mail! *dances wildly in muh seat” Seriously, it’s making me giddy, or at least smirky and snarky all rolled up into one. Someone took the time to tell me how much they dislike me.

See normally I would guess that most people are like me. You read something you don’t like and you click that big giant X that’s all red on the top right hand corner of the screen. It’s magic really, and I wish it worked on taxes. CLICK and POOF it’s all gone.

But nope, I am just so special enough that they had to click on comments, enter a message, fill out some info AND press another whole box to submit the whole thing.

That’s proof that I, my friends, am some kind of special, and that my virgin newbie-ness is longgggg gone.

I have a point to sharing all of this. It’s not to give credit to some stupid comment, but to give credit to all of us who aren’t afraid of such comments. You have to filter out the true critiques from people who only have balls when their computer boots up.

I have a lot of friends who want to blog, who have thoughts they are dying to share, but fear the public’s thoughts. There’s nothing in here/out there to fear. Nothing at all. I don’t write for the guy who found my writing to be “pointless and a waste of time” I write for me. Yes it rocks when a post get’s tons of hits, and yes it’s a downer when a post gets 0 hits… but I’m still going to type on.

There’s no growing in the not doing.

Put yourself out there for YOU.

As for the comment I got, I’m thinking about framing it… or maybe even a tattoo. Because a pointless waste of time would truly be taking life way too seriously. And sometimes we all need that reminder.

Now back to celebrating 2 trips around the neighborhood, with me driving a stick shift for the first time EVER and not killing ANYONE including the car!

There’s security in being able to hide away in all of the little dark corners of my mind with just me, my thoughts and my coffee. Hashing out my past in imaginary ways, defeating the demons that once held me down, all in the minutes of nap time.

There’s a lot of safety in going no further than NaNoWriMo attempts. There’s no pressure to share, no pressure to be perfect, no pressure to work any harder than you have to. I get the words out, then pack them away.

I began writing my “stories” the minute I learned to write. Crazy, far-fetched, fictions that took me away from the pressures of never fitting in. I learned that I could make my self popular, I could get attention, I could be far away from the meanness of life by just putting a pen to the paper.

But it seemed as though there was always something, someone better. And being that I lack competitiveness, I would pack my thoughts away and tell myself that I would never be good enough to go anywhere with it.

Yup, I’m one of “those” kind of people. Hell, it took me a year to realize that I do have some talent, and just because blogging doesn’t come naturally to me does not mean I lack all skill in writing. It means I’m not one of those witty bloggers… and that’s it. Duh.

So anyway, back to the safety net, I’m ready to burn it. Yup, for real this time. *takes a deep breath*

I’m setting deadlines and goals, like normal people do, and I’m going to take the plunge. 30 minutes everyday devoted to nothing more than editing and writing. I’m going to actually tell people I’m doing this, add some accountability to it, allow my self to want it and the such. Yup. Right after I finish highlighting things in my seed catalog for next year’s garden and finish knitting that blanket, THEN I’ll try to get all down to business.